


The Tragedy of Life

by Zillabird



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Court of Owls, Dick Grayson is a Talon, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, League of Assassins - Freeform, M/M, Multi, On Hiatus, Past Rape/Non-con, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zillabird/pseuds/Zillabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live." -Norman Cousins</p><p>It's a world where Batman never came to save Dick Grayson, where someone else found Jason Todd stealing the tires off the Batmobile. A darker world where the people who needed Bruce Wayne the most, were never saved. Left to their destinies, fate brings them together and happiness may find them despite the blood on their paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins: Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that because of the nature of writing and posting, without completing the story first, means that I am not aware of all the places this story may go. Tags and warnings may be added as the story progresses.

**Jason: Age 9: Gotham**

“Punk brat!” Coming from a fourteen year old with a shaved head and a really ugly tattoo of a dog on his left shoulder, that could almost be entertaining. Jason wasn’t stupid enough to stop and point out the hypocrisy of the comment, however, and instead let his feet pound hard against the pavement over and over as he tried to put as much distance between himself and Tyrone’s gang. “Come back here so I can pound your face in!”

With that kind of reward, Jason _definitely_ wasn’t going to stop.

He jerked to the right, sprinting down an alley as he pulled his jeans back up over his hips. Maybe he would have fit in them if he’d eaten more than one meal every other day. He tripped, hands splashing into a dirty puddle to break his fall and drenching the front of his t-shirt, before stumbling back to his feet. Water soaked into his holey shoes and the soft beat of soft soled shoes against the alley floor was joined by a squishing noise.

Great.

He looked over his shoulder, Jason was a fast runner but he was nine years old and Tyrone’s gang were all at least twelve or older. He just didn’t have height on his side and they were going to catch up with him eventually. They’d catch up and then, as Tyrone had so eloquently put it, pound his face in. He turned the corner again and faced front just in time to run right into the front of a car parked in the alley. He fell back, hit the ground, and proceeded to drench the back of his clothes with water as well. He could feel this morning’s rainwater get the back of his hair wet and soft silty mud coat his neck. Showers weren’t easy to come by living on the streets. Jason almost groaned just from the knowledge that it could be days before he could get clean.

“Holy shit,” Tyrone said.

“Is that-“

Tyrone cut off the gang member, “Of course it is you stupid ass.”

Jason sat up, heart pounding in his chest from the inevitable beat down he was about to get, and then gaped at the gleaming, sleek black car before him. He’d never seen it, exactly, but he’d heard about it. One time one of Dad’s friends had claimed to see it and compared it to the Devil’s horse. “You know,” he’d said, “straight out of the Revelations of the Bible.”

It didn’t seem all that biblical to Jason but it did look expensive and it carried all the weight of the legend who drove it, man or myth. Well, man it seemed, since the car appeared to be very real in front of him.

“Do you think he’s here?” Jason thought it might be Annie, one of Tyrone’s gang.

“I’m not staying to find out,” a different voice.

“Me neither,” Annie said. Two sets of retreating footsteps.

“Tyrone…” A voice trailed off.

“You better watch your back, Todd. You’re not going to run into the Batman’s car every night,” Tyrone shouted.

Jason climbed to his feet and watched Tyrone and the remaining three members of his little gang run off at the sight of the car. Not even the man, just the car. Most of Crime Alley wasn’t all that fond of the Batman. Until tonight, Jason hadn’t even been sure he wasn’t just a horror story big bosses told their men to keep them cautious. The air blew down the alley and Jason shook, the water making his skin break into goosebumps. He walked towards the car, putting his hand on the hood and then quickly pulled it back. Something that expensive, people got angry when you left a handprint on it.

Jason quickly looked around prepared for a nightmare, a _Devil_ like Dad’s friend had called him, to step out of the shadows. None did so Jason continued his exploration. A light down the alley lit up the space enough that Jason could see his reflection clear on the side. He looked pathetic, red hair flopping down over his forehead and a dirty smudge across his cheek. He used the sleeve of his shirt to try to wipe it away but the action only smeared it further and Jason gave up.

At last, his eyes came to the wheels. They weren’t like the wheels on Dad’s old car or even the wheels like the one’s on Tyrone’s dad’s car that Jason had just been caught trying to steal. They were the expensive kind and Jason’s grip tightened around the tire iron in his hand. Stealing the Batman’s wheels… that was a really bad idea. Jason didn’t want to end up dead or in jail like his Dad. But then his stomach grumbled, growling in protest at having been ignored for yet another meal. He was hungry and tires like these might give him enough money for food to last awhile, if he was careful. In the end, his survival instinct refused to let him pass up on the opportunity and he dropped to his knees on the wet alley floor before using the tire iron to begin loosening the nuts.

One tire. Two tires. The third tire gave him some trouble and Jason was sweating bullets in fear that the Batman would return any minute and Jason would be hauled off to jail or killed in a back alley or eaten by him or whatever a Batman did to little punk ass kids he found stealing the tires off his car.

“You’re a brave child, aren’t you?”

Jason screamed, raising the tire iron to defend himself. He’d broken Tyrone’s dad’s nose when the man had caught him and then sent Tyrone and his gang after Jason. If he could break the nose of a six foot something man weighing, like, eight hundred pounds he could fight off a Batman.

She wasn’t the Batman. The woman was tall, at least compared to Jason’s mom before she died, and pretty. Not like Jason’s mom. Of course, Jason had thought his mother was beautiful. Always so, so beautiful. But she was beautiful like a wilted flower, with dark sunken in eyes and pale skin peppered with injection spots all along her arms. Even at the end, with her hair fanned around her on the bathroom floor and the life long gone from her, Jason had thought she was beautiful. This woman, though, she was glamorous. This woman looked like she belonged on the cover of the magazines in the waiting room of the social services office with her shiny black hair and shiny brown eyes and full, healthy looking skin a shade that reminded him of the desert. Dark lips quirked up, just the tips so that it really couldn’t be called a smile, and her head tilted just the slightest. “Stealing tires, child?”

“No,” Jason said instantly.

Her eyes slowly drifted from Jason to the tire iron, from the tire iron to the pile of tires, and then back to Jason. “Of course not, my mistake.”

“What do you want?” Jason asked, a little hoarse from fear though he never lowered the tire iron.

“Power, immortality, and a legacy,” she said. “But if you were referring to the cost of my silence, nothing at all. If all you want is the tires, then I will be happy to avert my eyes to your crimes. I’ll even keep your secret when I see him again.”

“You know the Batman?” Jason asked.

Her lips quirked again. “Do you want the tires, child?”

Jason looked at the tires and back to her, grip tightening around the tire iron once more. “Is that a trick question?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “I suppose, however, that if you were to want something more than tires that would change things.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked.

“Return the tires to his car and I will buy you dinner tonight, child,” she said. “And perhaps we can discuss that something more.”

“I already ate,” Jason said, and was betrayed by a second grumble of his stomach. The woman arched an eyebrow. Jason didn’t let it drop. “I’m not stupid, Lady. Nothing good happens to kids who go with strangers to get free food. Nothing comes free.”

“Who said anything about it being free?” she asked. “The meal tonight is…payment, I suppose, for putting the wheels back on the car. The conversation is just a conversation. Anything after that will be your decision, you have my word.”

Jason’s eyes darted to the entrance of the alley. Something told him that running wasn’t going to get him anywhere. The woman looked like the jungle cats Mom had taken him to see at the zoo when he was younger, like she could move and get him before he could get away. Instinct was something you couldn’t not have on the street. People without instinct ended up dead. Jason had instinct in spades and right now, his was telling him that the woman was dangerous.

But it was also telling him that she could be trusted, at least for now.

“I don’t know anything about you,” Jason said. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Would you like to know my name?” she asked. Jason hesitated, once again trying to figure out if it was another trick question, but then nodded. “All you had to do was ask. My name is Talia al Ghul.”

**Dick: Age 12: Gotham**

Not far away from the dark alley with the gleaming, expensive car was the farthest point from the circus that the glowing spotlights reached. It lit up the night sky, would have blocked out the stars had the smog of Gotham not already done so. Glowing brightly, drawing all attention towards its spectacle, and filling the sick city with a glimmer of hope for one night and one night only. Inside the tent, risen high above the ground, the laughing and smiling audience watched clowns dance around the rings.

Behind the curtains, Dick looked up at the soft touch on his head by his mother. “Are you ready, my robin?”

“Born ready, Mama,” Dick said.

“And now, get prepared to be wowed and amazed!”

Tata pressed on Dick’s back. “Go, Dick. That’s our cue to climb up.”

“Watch their death defying feats as they soar through the air, _without a_ net-“ Dick and Mama went up on the left side, his father up on the right. Mama climbed up ahead of him as the crowd listened in quiet awe. Dick looked down from their perch high above the audience, enjoying the momentary darkness that gave him the chance to watch their faces and feel his heart pound in his chest with the adrenaline of the coming show. “-The Flying Graysons!”

The spotlights lit up, the sequins on their costumes exploding with light, and Dick stood beside his mother and waved. He looked across the way and saw Tata waving to the crowd from the other side. “Wish me luck, Dick.”

“You don’t need luck, Mama,” Dick said.

The music started up and Mama swung forward. Dick had so many memories of watching his parents do this. Swinging up in the air while he watched breathlessly from below. They made it look so easy, bending and twisting and flipping like they were born to fly. And tonight, Dick’s first night in the air with them, the audience would look up at him with that same awe.

His first jump came and he swung out. This was the easy part, holding on and knowing that you were in control of keeping yourself from falling. The hard part was letting go, but Dick had never been afraid. He released his grip and there was a weightlessness as he flipped, a sensation of knowing that there was nothing between him and the ground except air, the feeling of flying. Then his mother caught his grip and he was swinging and grinning and he flipped again, the same flying feeling, and then Tata caught his hands. Once more and he was across, standing in the same spot as his father had been standing only moments before and watching his mother and father as they swung through the air.

He’d join them again once more, before the end, but for now he only got to watch and bask in the afterglow of his performance thus far. The crowd was cheering but they’d seen nothing yet. Flying, flipping, swinging, and it all culminated in a quadruple flip that his mother was one flip into now. Two. Three. Four. Tata’s hands stretched out and mother grabbed him wearing a smile.

The snap managed to be louder than the music. Dick didn’t understand at first but horror quickly crossed his features at the shocked, terrified look that his mother and father shared. The rope gave way on one side and Tata clung to the hanging tail end for a split second before the second side gave way as well and then they were falling, falling, falling, falling and Dick felt like he was falling with them until the crack of their bodies hitting the ground had him dropping to his knees on the platform.

A woman screamed in the audience and Dick crawled to the ladder, almost dropping down more than climbing in his desperation to get to the bottom.

Someone grabbed his arm, “Dick, don’t go over there. You don’t need to see that.” It was a voice he recognized but it didn’t stop him from screaming bloody murder out of the blue and surprising them enough to let him go. He raced across the floor and caught sight of the pooling blood around his parents’ bodies. Mama’s eyes were facing him, open in terror even now, but cold and lifeless and Dick screamed again.

“Someone grab Dick.” Another voice that he recognized. “Dickie, honey-“

“Mama,” Dick screamed. “Mama!”

He darted forward and then two arms wrapped around him in a vice. “Dick, son, please. Close your eyes.”

He didn’t. “Tata, please get up!”

Their bodies remained still. Dead. Mama and Tata were… Dick’s muscles gave out and the first hot tears slid down his cheek, burning his eyes and blurring his vision. The only thing keeping him up were the person’s arms around him.

Sirens began whining in the distance.

“Dick, close your eyes,” the voice ordered again. He didn’t want to. He wanted his mother to get up, his father to hug him. He wanted to wake up because this all felt like a nightmare. “Close your eyes, Dick.”

Finally, he squeezed them shut.

He felt himself being pulled away and he didn’t fight it, didn’t struggle, just let whoever it was carry him out. The cold air outside the tent hit his face. So cold for this time of year. “Are they…”

“I’m sorry, Dick,” was the quiet reply. Dick’s chest heaved with a sob and he kept his eyes squeezed tight. Warmth again, following the sound of a trailer door opening. “You can open your eyes now, Dick.”

Something soft touched his cheek and he opened his eyes to find Mr. Haly wiping the tear tracks from his cheek with a handkerchief. The old man’s eyes were wet, his hands shaking as he wiped away the tears. It was quiet in the trailer, away from the screaming crowds and the blaring sirens, so Dick’s cries seemed all the louder.

Dick felt like he should say something but every time he opened his mouth it was taken over by a tragic moan.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Mr. Haly said again. Perhaps he didn’t know what to say either. They both looked up when there was a knock at the door. Mr. Haly climbed to his feet and walked over, pulling it open. Dick couldn’t see from where he was sitting, the light casting shadows all over the person’s face. Mr. Haly seemed to see him clearly, however, and not only that but recognize him. “You. Did you do-“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” The stranger was hard, voice unyielding as granite. Rough. “The timing was chance.”

“Not tonight,” Mr. Haly said, but he stepped back when the stranger moved up the stairs to push into the trailer.

Dick looked up from his seat at the man before him. He was in his forties, if Dick had to guess, and his hair was long and dark black. Dick almost recognized the shade of blue in his eyes, because it was similar to his own, but a trick of the light made the iris appear to move and a flash of yellow unsettled his stomach. Just above the collar of the man’s shirt, the faintest sign of a scar showed on his chest. The man looked him over with the same scrutiny before speaking, “Richard Grayson?”

“Dick,” he corrected immediately.

“Richard,” the man repeated.

Dick didn’t know what to say. Mr. Haly cleared his throat. “He’s suffered a great tragedy tonight-“

“My name is William Cobb. John Grayson, your father, was my son,” the stranger said.

There was something about the way that the man so casually used “was”, as if it had been years since Tata died rather than mere minutes. It had only been minutes, right? The time stretched to seem like forever, like years, in the same way that Dick felt like it had been seconds. “I didn’t know my grandfather was alive.”

“John and I had a falling out, you could say,” William said.

Dick wiped his face and looked down, picking at the tape wrapped around his right wrist. “Sorry.”

“Yes, well, I was here to make amends with him,” William said. Mr. Haly glanced at him and Dick knew without a shadow of a doubt that was a lie. “I’m afraid that I’ll never get the chance now.”

What did Dick say to that? Apparently nothing, since Mr. Haly was content to interrupt once more. “I think perhaps there is a better time for this, sir.”

“There is no better time for this.” Dick sensed a double meaning but the numbness in his chest was spreading and the picture of his mother’s dead, lifeless, terrified eyes had him losing even more of an ability to care. William kept speaking, “Now, more than ever, we should embrace our family.”

“The circus is my family,” Dick said.

A sneer crossed the man’s lips but it was gone in a flash. It was replaced by a look of sympathy that Dick knew was fake. “Richard, son, now that your parents have passed-“ How could he say it like that? So soon. So… Dick could still remember the feeling of Tata’s arms around him this morning, the press of Mama’s lips against his forehead. “-someone will need to take you in and you cannot expect the circus to take care of an orphan child.”

Dick hadn’t thought about that. He looked up at Mr. Haly who seemed at a loss for words. William followed Dick’s line of sight and his eyes hardened on the man. “Tell him.”

Mr. Haly visibly deflated, the same way the big tent dropped when the audience had left and all that was left was to clean up and ride off to the next town. His lips flapped without letting out a single word but he jumped when William cleared his throat. Mr. Haly wet his lips and then said, “You should go with your grandfather, Dick. The circus will only have bad memories for you now.”

Dick thought he caught a smirk on his grandfather’s face but when he looked at him there was only the same expressionless default that the man had worn for most of the night. Dick tugged hard on the tape and unraveled a strip too quickly leaving a bright red streak in its place. He closed his eyes. “Fine.”

Apparently, he didn’t have a choice anyways. They didn’t care what he wanted.

“Grab your things,” his grandfather ordered.

Dick looked up sharply. “Now?”

“Now,” the word was cold as ice.

Dick looked to Mr. Haly for help, for something. Mr. Haly sighed softly. “Go on, Dick. You wouldn’t want to be here for now anyways. The cops will come, newspapers. Let him get you out of here and away from the spectacle.”

“You don’t know what I would want. Neither of you have any idea what I want!” Dick exclaimed, shooting to his feet.

William’s back straightened. “Don’t yell at me, Richard. Do what I told you to do.”

Dick closed his mouth and looked away but he didn’t move.

“Richard,” William snapped.

Dick finally made his legs move and he left the trailer, letting the door slam shut behind him.

William Cobb watched his great grandson leave with hard eyes, following the boy’s shadow through the small window on the trailer door until he disappeared. “He’s stubborn and disobedient.”

“He’s twelve,” Mr. Haly said.

Cobb turned to him. “In my day, twelve year old boys were all but men. They knew to respect their elders.”

“He just lost both his parents,” Mr. Haly said.

“Or maybe he is a wayward child because men like you and my disappointment of a grandson spoil him and make excuses for his bad behavior,” Cobb replied. He turned back to the door. “He will not have the same treatment under my tutelage.”

“He’s a good boy. A sweet child. He does not have the heart of a killer. You have made the wrong decision,” Mr. Haly said.

Cobb smirked. “The Court does not make wrong decisions. Richard has no fear, his body trained to defy nature, and there is no one left to come looking for him once he is gone.”

“Did you kill them?” Mr. Haly asked again.

“No. We would have, within the week, but it looks like someone took care of it for us. One less job for me to do,” Cobb said.

Mr. Haly winced, looking at the man who would have killed John and Mary. “Dick is not a killer.”

“He will be,” Cobb said. He caught the look of horror on the circus owner’s face and laughed, the sound biting. “Don’t look at me like I’m a monster. I am the product of creation. If you wish to find a monster I suggest you look in the mirror. Take a look at the man who will let this child walk away into the darkness.”

Shame ate at the man as he closed his eyes. His father had explained the deal to him. They could turn over a child of the Court’s choosing upon request or every person working and living with the circus would be slaughtered. What was one life compared to many? “I don’t have any choice.”

“If that makes you sleep well at night I encourage you to get your rest,” Cobb said.

Mr. Haly took a seat behind his desk. Wherever John and Mary were, he hoped they would forgive him. More than that, he hoped they were watching over their son. Dick would need whatever protection he could get where he was going.

**Jason: Age 9: Gotham**

The restaurant was too fancy. Jason was uncomfortable beneath the patrons’ stares. He could feel their eyes on him, taking in the sight of a scruffy child in a wet t-shirt and torn pants. Holey shoes and dirty face. He twisted his hands in his lap but didn’t move out of the seat Miss al Ghul had instructed him into. “Are you sure you wanna take me into a place like this, ma’am?”

“Am I sure I _want to_ take you into a place like this,” Miss al Ghul corrected. “And yes, child. I am quite sure.”

Jason felt his face flush, his pale skin had never been any good at hiding that, and he stumbled over his words. “They don’t like kids like me in places like this, ma’am. They’re gonna ask me to leave.”

“They’re _going to_ ask you to leave,” Miss al Ghul corrected. “And they will not ask any guest of mine to leave. This is my favorite restaurant in the city and I spend a good amount money here, tip well, and have a unique relationship with the owner of the establishment. I cannot keep them from their looks but they will not ask you to leave. You should make yourself comfortable.”

Easier said than done but Jason nodded and tried. He continued wringing his hands in his lap and jumped when the waiter came over. “Madame al Ghul, a pleasure to have you back once again. Shall I start you with a glass of wine?”

“Please, the usual. A glass of water for the boy. For his meal, something simple for his stomach. I would imagine anything too rich would make the poor boy sick,” Miss al Ghul said. “Bring the wine and the food and then leave us be for the night. The child and I need to have a conversation.”

“Yes, Madame,” the waiter replied before disappearing into the kitchen. The moments passed in silence before he was back with a single glass of water, a wine glass, and a tinted bottle which he poured into the wine glass set before Miss al Ghul. “Your food will be out in a moment, for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Jason said softly.

The words seemed to surprise the waiter who paused on his way away from the table before nodding and then walked away once more.

Jason looked at the glass, small beads of condensation sliding down its smooth surface, and then reached out and took it. He tipped it back. It tasted better than the water he got out of the faucets of the bathroom when he managed to sneak in somewhere to get a drink. He tipped it back further and then the glass was empty.

“Thirsty, child?” Miss al Ghul asked.

“Jason,” he said softly.

Miss al Ghul arched an eyebrow. “Don’t mumble, child.”

“Jason,” he repeated, louder this time. “My name is Jason. Jason Todd.”

She smiled, clearly pleased, and nodded. “Thank you, Jason.”

He nodded, uncomfortable with her gratitude for his name. It was like she knew what it meant, how serious it was to give something like that of yourself on the streets. Miss al Ghul wasn’t from the streets, Jason knew that. She might be dangerous but her favorite restaurant was one that would have called the cops if he’d come within fifty feet of it on his own. Jason’s favorite restaurant would never be anything like this.

The waiter came back and set a plate of food before Miss al Ghul. Jason was pretty sure it was some kind of bird, decorated with a green and purple leaf and a purple sauce drizzle along the side of the plate. It smelled of garlic and other herbs that Jason couldn’t name but loved the smell of. He set a different plate in front of Jason. It was chicken, Jason knew that, marinated. He could smell lemon and his mouth watered.

Miss al Ghul watched him, neither of them touching their food, before she finally asked, “Is something wrong with it?”

“Of course not,” Jason said instantly.

“Then why aren’t you eating?” she asked.

He scratched his arm, leaving streaks of red. He’d done something wrong. “My Mom used to tell me that a gentleman always waited until the lady started eating before he could start eating.”

Miss al Ghul’s eyes softened. “That’s admirable of you, child.” She picked up her fork, one of three, and took a bite of the chicken. “There, now you may comfortably eat.”

Jason stretched his neck to figure out which fork she’d taken and then picked the same one to eat his own food. He tried to go slowly, take small bites and prove to this woman that he wasn’t some mangy street rat whose Mama didn’t teach them any manners. He maintained some of that, but his eating became faster and his bites bigger as food finally hit his tongue for the first time in two days. His stomach got angry about halfway through but Jason didn’t stop, couldn’t justify leaving half the plate when food was so hard to come by.

“Jason,” Miss al Ghul said.

He stopped and quickly grabbed the napkin to wipe his lips. His face heated in preparation for whatever lecture he’d get for doing something wrong. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said. “I just wanted to know if you were enjoying your meal.”

Jason looked down at his mostly finished plate. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. Her eyes settled on him, analyzing again and Jason found he didn’t much like being on this end of that look, before she spoke. “When was the last time you ate?”

“This morning,” Jason lied.

Her eyes snapped up to his face and he read some kind of anger there. “The truth, child. I have no patience for deceit.”

“The day before yesterday,” Jason admitted, feeling chastised.

“And what did you have?” she asked.

Jason’s cheeks heated further. “Just, um, some food.”

Miss al Ghul raised an eyebrow. “I would imagine so. What kind of food?”

Jason felt his defenses rising. “I had food. What does it matter what kind of food it was?”

“I caught you stealing tires and I did not turn you in. I provided you with dinner for no charge,” she said. “Can you at least tell me the truth?”

“You said that dinner was payment for putting the tires back,” Jason said. “Now who’s lying?”

She opened her mouth but then closed it again, he could see the wheels turning in her head. “You’re right, Jason. I did. And it is wrong to hold others to a standard I am not willing to live to myself. You do not have to tell me what you ate, child, but I would like to know before we begin our conversation.”

“I don’t want to tell, ma’am. Kids on the street ain’t got a lot of places to get food, okay?” Jason said. His last meal, for example, had come out of a dumpster.

“Kids on the street _don’t have_ a lot of places to get food,” Miss al Ghul corrected. “But I respect your decision.” By the look in her eyes she had her suspicions and Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Why am I here, ma’am?” Jason asked.

“To eat,” she replied.

“No. Ladies like you don’t take kids like me to dinner. I’ve helped some old ladies cross the street and stuff, shoveled some sidewalks. They hand you a five and tell you to scram. Nobody wants to be around kids like me,” Jason said. “So why am I here instead of sleeping with a five in my shoe?”

Miss al Ghul didn’t answer right away, finishing her own plate before pushing it away. She folded her hands on the table. “You are here, child, because I see something in you. Bravery, for one, and a strong survival instinct. Self-discipline. You have a spark of greatness.”

Jason squinted at her. “Ma’am, the only time great has ever been used to describe me was when my Dad called me a great big pain in his ass. Sorry about the language.”

Something close to amusement was on her face again. “Perhaps I am more observant than your father then.”

“Probably. He’s in Blackgate right now,” Jason said, trailing off into a mumble.

“And your mother?” she asked.

“Mom died almost a year ago,” Jason said. “Car accident.”

Drug overdose.

“My condolences.”

“It’s fine. I think she’s probably happier anyways,” Jason said.

Miss al Ghul looked surprised, maybe even impressed. He wondered if it was what he said or the fact that an uneducated brat covered in dirt knew what the word condolences meant. “So you’re alone.”

Jason didn’t answer. He’d given away too much to lie and pretend he had somebody but he couldn’t really sink himself and admit it.

“Would you like a place to stay?” she asked.

Jason shook his head. “Nothing’s free.”

“I never said it was free,” she said. “I asked if you wanted a place to stay.”

Jason chewed on the inside of his mouth. “What do you want?”

“An hour of conversation and for you to refrain from making any decisions until we finish talking,” Miss al Ghul said.

“That’s it?” Jason asked, dubiously.

“That’s it,” she affirmed.

Jason scuffed the tips of his shoes against the floor. A place to stay for the night and all he had to do was talk. It sounded too good to be true. But Jason hadn’t had a real place to stay in… well, he couldn’t even really remember when. He nodded. “Okay, Miss al Ghul.”

“One more thing,” she said and Jason tensed anxiously. “Call me Talia.”


	2. Origins: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it should be noted, maybe, that I am taking several liberties here. The differences in age, when things happened and where. The Court is something I've had to take some creative liberties with. Please enjoy the story for the intent behind it. Yes, I am aware that not all facts are canon compliant. Most likely, they were intended not to be.

**Dick: Age 12: Gotham**

Dick’s goodbyes had been minimal. A hug from Mr. Haly and a wave to some of the clowns. He’d tried to say something but then his grandfather had a hand at the back of his neck, tight and guiding him away. “Hey! I wanted to say goodbye to them.”

“There’s no point,” William replied.

Dick struggled but his grandfather was a lot stronger than he looked and he already looked pretty strong. He sighed and let himself be led away, glancing once at the numerous cop cars and ambulances that were parked around the big tent. Tears gathered in his eyes and he dropped his head. It still didn’t feel real.

William pulled Dick along, leading him towards the black car parked at the farthest point away from the big tent in the shadows. The contacts in his eyes were bothering him, becoming an irritation as he tried to see through them with his usual advanced sight. Soon they would become unnecessary once more. The Court’s chauffeur opened the door and he finally let go of his grandson’s neck. “Get in.”

Dick hesitated until the hand was on his neck again and pushing him into the back of the car. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” William said, a dry note to his tone.

Dick wriggled out of his grandfather’s grip and into the car. Pain was easier than a conversation, got better results. William didn’t want the argument about getting into the car and Dick, he knew, was plenty strong enough to take a little discomfort. He’d be facing far worse soon enough. When William climbed into the car, and the chauffeur had closed the door behind him, he could barely contain his amusement at the sight of his great grandson all the way on the other side of the car. As much of the boy’s body as could be was pressed against the door and his face turned to look out the window.

“Are you ignoring me?” William asked.

Dick didn’t answer right away which would have been answer enough, but he finally sighed and looked down and shook his head. “No.”

“No, sir,” William said. “Mind your elders.”

“No, sir,” Dick parroted for him. Then he was back to looking out the window at the flashing red and blue lights.

The car started up and then they were driving away. Dick’s chest hurt as the big tent grew smaller and smaller before finally being blocked out of his view by the tall, glass and steel buildings of Gotham. “You’re lucky you weren’t with them when they fell.”

Dick physically cringed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” And then quickly added on, “Sir.”

“It seemed like you were talking to the circus owner just fine about it,” William said, smiling as if amused.

Dick looked at him and then back out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it with _you_. Sir.”

William’s expression remained a smile but it was darker, cold. Not entirely out of place on a psychopath covered in blood. “My, my, you are a precocious little brat, aren’t you?”

Dick’s head snapped up. “I’m not a brat.”

“Yes, you are,” he assured his great grandson. “A spoiled, ungrateful swine of a child. Rude and disobedient. Weak and arrogant.”

“My parents just died,” Dick said, shocked and angry. “Leave me alone.”

There wasn’t much room in the back of the car but there was enough for William’s hand to swing and slap Dick across the face. The boy’s head snapped to the side. For a brief second, the red palm print was visible and then Dick covered his cheek with his own hand and William could see only the red edges. He turned a pair of wet eyes to William, something akin to fear hidden behind the sadness “Boy, your freedom to say and do as you wish ends here. I do not tolerate disobedience or rudeness, nor do I tolerate a blatant disregard for respect. Learn to hold your tongue.”

Dick slid his hand down and didn’t say a word. He turned his eyes to the floor of the car and his shoulders hunched.

“The appropriate response would be, yes, sir,” William prompted.

“Yes, sir,” Dick mumbled.

William nodded, finally pleased, and sat back in the car. The drive was rather short and Dick looked up, surprised, when they rolled to a stop. “You live in Gotham?”

“You could say that,” he replied.

The door opened on William’s side, the chauffeur holding it open. Dick watched his grandfather climb out and then slid across the seat to follow him. His cheek still stung from where he was slapped but it was fading fast. His wariness of the man before him faded a lot slower. The alley was dark, stone’s uneven and cobbled, and wet from the rain earlier this morning. Dick was still in his costume and the streetlight, flickering in and out at the dead end of the alley flashed off the gaudy costume. “What are we doing here?”

The hand was back around the back of his neck, squeezing and pushing him forward. Dick’s heart fluttered in panic and he twisted, trying to free himself again. The hand only tightened and his grandfather’s voice barked in his ear. “Your tendency to drag your feet has already delayed us getting back on time. I will not be further late because of you.”

Dick tried to dart away and the man’s arm wrapped around his chest like a vice. He wriggled but got nowhere. “Let me go!”

“Be quiet before I break your jaw and make you quiet,” William growled. Dick’s teeth snapped shut, the sound rather loud in the quiet of the alley. The arm let go but was quickly followed with a sharp command. “Don’t think about running, boy. I’ll catch you and then I really will break something. Perhaps your leg.”

The cool air, too cool for June, made Dick shiver in his thin costume but he didn’t run. Just watched as his grandfather lifted the grate over the sewer. He wrapped a tight hand around Dick’s arm and pulled him over. “Use the ladder to climb down.”

“Where does it go?” Dick asked.

“You don’t need to know the answer to that to do what I told you to do,” William said.

It didn’t smell like the sewer, or whatever Dick imagined a sewer to smell like. There was a distinctive lack of smell where Dick had assumed there would be. He glanced at William, the impatience clear in the man’s eyes, and then stiffly moved towards the ladder. He was confused, scared, and he didn’t want to push his grandfather to smack him again.

“So you _can_ listen,” William said, a mocking note to his words.

Dick didn’t respond, just climbed down.

It was dark, unsurprisingly, but what did surprise him were the torches on the walls casting a low flickering light over the stones floor and walls. They appeared like tunnels, rounded at the top but flat on the ground, and Dick could hear a shushing noise following by a slap like small waves in the distance. Likely water somewhere deeper in the sewer. A thump of footsteps and Dick spun to face his grandfather. “What-“

“No more questions,” he growled. Dick could barely make out the shadowed movements, glimpses of William lifting his hands to his face. Something fell to the ground at their feet and when Dick squinted he thought they looked like the contacts he knew one of the clowns wore. His eyes moved back up and he gasped at the sight of two yellow eyes blinking at him from the darkness. William grinned, cruel, and then took a step forward. “Go, Richard.”

Dick took a step back. “I want to go home.”

“You don’t have a home anymore.”

**Jason: Age 9: Gotham**

Jason spun around, looking up at the glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling. And it was such a high ceiling and with pretty white paint without smudges and handprints like the white walls of the old apartment building he and his family had lived in. The pillars looked like stone, like the marble he’d learned about in school until he’d stopped going a few months back when Mom died. A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up at Miss al Ghul. “This is amazing.”

She looked up, around. She seemed to be much less impressed by the hotel than Jason was.

“Miss al Ghul, is this young hoodlum bothering you?” The strict voice belonged to a man in a navy blue suit with white hair and a mustache on his face.

Jason stepped back, hiding a little behind Talia. She was rather tall and Jason had always been a little short for his age so he could hide behind her rather well. Talia looked down at him, surprised, and hesitantly placed a hand on his head. Jason could feel her perfectly manicured nails slide between his hair and tap against his head. She looked up. “No, Phillip, this is Jason Todd. He is a guest of mine, at least for the evening. I expect him to be treated with the utmost respect.”

The man, Phillip, looked down at Jason again. It was obvious how reluctant he was to accept that he had to bestow any amount of respect on the boy let alone the utmost respect as Talia had ordered. “Of course, ma’am.”

Talia moved her hand down to Jason’s shoulder. “Come along, child.”

He was led away. He twisted his head around to look at the man and Talia tutted quietly. “There are mirrors along the wall, Jason. If you wish to watch him, use the mirrors. If your surroundings give you the opportunity to appear untouchable, use them to your advantage. It shows more confidence to turn your back than to turn around and show your concern.”

Jason turned back around and his blue eyes moved to the walls which were, indeed, covered by mirrors. He saw Phillip watching them before the man finally turned and went to help another guest. Jason looked up. “What do you do for a living, Miss al Ghul?”

“What did I say about what you were to call me?” Talia asked.

“Talia,” Jason corrected. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’ll learn,” Talia said. “As for your question, let us wait to have that conversation until we get upstairs.”

Upstairs was the top floor, a presidential suite that probably cost more for one night than his mom’s old apartment had cost in a month. More white walls, these ones with paintings hung on them. Landscapes of beaches with clear blue water and white crested waves. Jason had never been to the beach before but if they were anything like the picture, he thought he’d like to go one day. Talia set her things down on the table inside the door and walked into the main section of the room. She took a seat on the couch there and motioned for Jason to sit across from her in one of the recliners. Jason only spared one more glance around the room before he looked at the pristine chair and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Jason. I am not going to ask you to do something only to punish you for it. It’s nothing but a chair. Have a seat,” Talia said.

Jason hesitated for only a moment longer and then sat down. It was probably the most comfy chair Jason had ever sat in. Ever. “Whataya want to talk about?”

“What do I want to talk about,” Talia corrected. “And I would like to talk to you about you.”

“There’s not much to talk about,” Jason said. He shrugged in the way that children did. “I’m not all that interesting.”

“I find you rather interesting,” Talia said. “But I respect your wishes to not speak about your past. For now. Rather, I would like to talk about your future.”

Jason swung his legs back and forth on the chair, kicking his heels into the chair in a showcase of just how nervous this was still making him. Before his dad went to jail, Jason remembered the man telling his mom that Jason didn’t have a future. Snot nosed brats lived off their parents and wound up in a gutter or living behind bars for the rest of their life. Jason just shrugged. “I don’t know nothing about anything like that, Miss…Talia, I mean.”

“Surely you have thoughts about what you wish to do with your life,” Talia said.

Jason shrugged again. “I want to get off the streets one day.” If he lived that long. “I like the books at the library.”

He’d probably end up turning into a criminal just like his dad. Jason wasn’t stupid. There weren’t a whole lot of opportunities for street kids and you had to do what you had to in order to survive. That’s how Jason had ended up trying to steal tires today.

“You enjoy reading?” Talia asked. She smiled, warmer than usual, at Jason’s small and hesitant nod. “Good. What if it were possible to get you off the streets now, child? Get you a good education, a safe place to be, with all the necessities. It would be hard work, I will not pretend otherwise, but I believe that you could do it. Even thrive in it. What would you say to that?”

Jason popped his chin up, pride lighting up his eyes. “I’m not afraid of hard work, Miss Talia.”

“Just Tal-“ she started and then shook her head. “Close enough. I figured you weren’t. I am a very rich woman from a very powerful family. I can offer you those things.”

“Why?” Jason asked.

“Why?” Talia repeated.

Jason hesitated and then nodded. “Why would you offer those things?”

“Why not?” she asked in turn.

“Because I’m a no good kid that sleeps behind dumpsters,” Jason said, old enough to be bitter about it. Old enough to know that he smelled like the trash people called him and try to scrape the dirt out from under his nails because Talia had a really nice chair. “And you’re a nice lady with a really nice hotel room who has no reason to pay attention to street kids from Gotham.”

Talia was quiet for a long moment. “You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?” Jason didn’t answer, just looked away. “Tonight alone, I have seen you try to steal the Batman’s tires, fight off numerous aggressors, and still manage to maintain your dignity despite the ignorance of waiters and hotel lobby clerks alike. I have seen a great strength in you and I wish to see the might that it could be if it were to be nurtured instead of crushed. This city, I’ve never understood anyone’s draw to it, this city rips the best parts of a person out and destroys them. You are too good for that, whether you see it or not.”

Jason looked up at her, surprised. “How do you know? You just met me.”

“Consider it women’s intuition,” Talia said. “Or years of experience observing the greatest examples of true strength the world has to offer. I know what greatness looks like, even buried in the soul of a mere child covered in dirt who won’t look me in the eyes.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Jason asked. “What if you just think you see greatness?”

“I am rarely ever wrong,” Talia said. “But let that be my risk, not yours.”

Jason picked at his cuticles for a long moment, letting the silence fill the room. It thought it felt oppressive. Heavy. Talia seemed to be unaffected by it altogether. He opened his mouth and words caught in his throat until his tongue darted out and wet chapped, cracked lips and he nodded. “What do I have to do?”

**Dick: Age 12: Gotham**

The uneven stone pathways of the sewer were hard to navigate in the darkness, even lit up with the red-yellow flames. If anything, the flickering shadows made it all the harder. Not that Dick’s grandfather had any sympathy for the boy’s struggles. When Dick fell and ripped a jagged tear into his costume, scraping the skin of his knee and bringing blood to the surface, Cobb simply grabbed a handful of the boy’s costume and set him back on his feet. “Move, boy.”

“I’m trying,” Dick muttered only to yelp in pain when the hand moved up to yank his head back by his hair.

Cobb craned his head back, baring the boy’s throat, and growled. “Don’t try. Just do it. I don’t have patience for your pathetic attempts.”

Dick’s head snapped back and he scuttled along and away as soon as the man’s hand let go of his hair. The dirt and moisture of the sewer was collecting on his costume as he stumbled along and he coughed at the dust that entered his mouth when he wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Where are we going?”

“To the Court,” Cobb said.

“What court?” Dick asked.

“The Court of Owls,” Cobb said. “You belong to them now.”

Dick turned, squinting to make out his grandfather in the tunnel. “What does that mean?”

“Keep moving,” he ordered. He didn’t speak again until Dick had turned back around and kept moving down the tunnels. “It means that you have been chosen as the Court’s next Talon. You will train until you are deemed competent to do the duties that the position will require of you.”

“What if I don’t want to be a…a Talon?” Dick asked. He wasn’t surprised when Cobb’s hand was at the back of his neck again, squeezing tightly.

“It’s not your decision. The Court has the right to take the best, they are entitled to the greatest that Gotham has to offer. You are my heir, carrying my blood in your veins, and their observations of your athleticism showed that my blood has treated you well. I have been told that you have real skill, something that passed my pathetic son up. Not to mention that whore he married,” Cobb sneered.

Dick tugged out of his grip as it loosened. “My father wasn’t pathetic and my mother wasn’t a whore. They were incredible acrobats.”

“Is that why they fell out of the sky like a couple of amateurs?” he asked cruelly.

Dick’s chest ached at the sudden blast of pain. “It was an accident.”

“I’m going to train you to be better than them, Richard. Accidents are for the weak. When I am through with you, you will no longer be the sniveling child that you are now. You will be great,” Cobb said.

The pathway suddenly widened. The sound of water was far gone and Dick felt that they had entered some part of the sewer that wasn’t supposed to be here. Just like his grandfather shouldn’t have yellow eyes and he shouldn’t be being dragged underground to be some…Talon. This sewer was wrong. Dark in the most evil of ways. Cobb grabbed his upper arm, hand big enough to wrap entirely around Dick’s arm and dragged him towards a thick wooden door. The handle was metal, rusted in small amounts around the screws, and Cobb grabbed it before pulling it open. Dick expected a creak but the door remained silent.

Something else that just felt innately wrong.

The room was circular, stone floors that were smooth and even in a way the pathways hadn’t been. Dick could hear whispers, like wind in the trees but with the touch of sounds like words that made him know without a doubt that there were others in this room. In the center was a lone light, like a spotlight, and Cobb dragged into the room and pushed him into the light. “I have brought you the next Talon.”

“Trainee, what is your name?” The voice came from nowhere and everywhere and Dick looked around him to try and see where it was. The light made it impossible, outside the small circle of brightness might have been an abyss a mile long for all he could see of it. “Trainee?”

“His name is Richard Grayson. My grandson and the greatest athlete that the circus had to offer,” Cobb offered.

“The Trainee will learn to answer for himself, Talon.” Same voice. Same eerie quality of being everywhere and nowhere at once.

Cobb looked sufficiently chastised. “My apologies, master.”

Silence and Dick shifted. Feeling much like the deer in the headlights, as it were, Dick wanted to run but didn’t know where to. Didn’t know how to. He felt frozen in place.

“His skills were quite incredible during the demonstration.” A different voice. “He will make a good Talon one day.”

“So be it,” that was the first voice again. “Talon, take the Trainee to be treated with the serum immediately. We will expect regular updates on his progress.”

“Of course, master,” Cobb said.

And just like that, Dick was being dragged back out of the room. He didn’t struggle, too terrified of the faceless voices from the darkness to put up a fight he knew he wasn’t going to win. Once the door shut behind them he looked up at his grandfather. “Who were they?”

“The Court,” Cobb said. Dick had known that, a part of him had at least. “Your new masters.”

“What does a Talon do?” Dick asked.

“Resigning yourself to it already?” Cobb asked, grinning. He seemed almost amused. “Good. There may be hope for you yet.”

“What does a Talon do?” Dick asked again.

Cobb stopped outside another wooden door and turned to Dick. “The Talon is an extension of the Court. You are their tool, their weapon, whatever they want you to be. You are to fulfill their orders.”

“What do they _do_?” Dick asked.

“You’re a killer,” Cobb said, finally. “An assassin. The boogeyman they can hold and command as a threat to those who would stand in the Court’s way.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Dick said.

“You will,” Cobb said. He opened the door and pushed Dick inside.

Unlike the cold stone and warm light of the torches, the room was spotless tiled floors and clean white walls. Bright fluorescent lights that made Dick’s eyes water after being in the dark for so long. He glanced up at his grandfather and immediately turned his gaze to the man’s eyes. The pupil was a mere pinprick in the light, so small that it almost wasn’t there and the yellow iris looked like it was overwhelming it. He wore an expression of irritation but made no complaints. “Where-“

“Is this the Trainee?” An older man, salt and pepper hair. Glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose behind a bump that might have been from an old break healed improperly. He wore a white lab coat that reminded Dick of doctors. This man looked too cruel to be a doctor.

“The Court wants him treated immediately,” Cobb replied.

The man motioned to the chair in the middle, like a dentist’s chair if it weren’t for the restraints at the neck, feet, and arm rests. Dick took a step back and Cobb shoved him forward. “Stop!”

Cobb ignored him, using his clearly superior strength to pick Dick up and all but throw him on the chair. The restraints were around his wrists first and after that it was much easier to finish restraining the rebellious boy. Dick could barely breathe, panic making his lungs struggle to get air in and muscles clenching to fight painfully against the restraints. Sweat made his heads slippery but not nearly enough to try and free himself from his bonds. “Please…don’t…”

They ignored him.

The doctor, if that’s what he was, lifted up a bottle of a gold colored liquid and a needle that he plunged inside to draw a significant amount of the contents out. Then he walked over. “He’ll be in excruciating pain for forty-eight hours as the changes set in.”

“When he passes out, have him moved to one of the cells. I have no interest in watching him while he’s useless like that,” Cobb said.

Dick tried to pull away but he wasn’t going anywhere and the doctor had little difficulty pushing the needle into the side of his neck. Dick could see him push the plunger down out of the corner of his eye but it held his attention only for a moment before the contents hit his bloodstream.

Dick screamed as something seemed to melt his insides, set his blood on fire. As every bone in his body instantly felt like it was being crushed a thousand times. He screamed and was barely conscious of the fact that his grandfather had already walked out of the room.


	3. Origins: Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter taking place in the so-called past. After this, the actual story will pick up.

**Dick: Age 15: Gotham**

“He completed his training much faster than expected.”

“After all the attempts to escape during those first few months, I was sure he would have to be killed and stored before he was even remotely usable.”

“He’s going to grow up to be an attractive thing, isn’t he?”                    

“Going to be attractive? Have you looked at the boy? He already is.”

“I still say he has too much confidence. Look at the way he holds himself. Its borderline cocky and that’s not a trait I want to see in the Talon.”

“He gets it from Cobb. His grandfather has always held himself in too high a regard.”

The Trainee ignored the conversations taking place in the rows of Court seating. He knew they were talking about him. While most times the Court seemed perfectly content to forget that they had created and leashed a monster, tonight he wasn’t quite as easily a subject avoided. Beside him, the Talon stood with the same air of indifference about him. “Have you been looking forward to this day?”

An end to the training, at least at the Talon’s hands? An end to whatever tortures he could imagine to inflict that he claimed would make the Trainee stronger? An end to beatings and punishments and conditioning ordered for no other reason than because the Talon was in a bad mood? The Trainee didn’t even look up at him. “Not really.”

“Liar,” The Talon said, but he sounded amused. “I wish I could scar that pretty face of yours. Leave you something to remember me by.”

The Trainee let out a soft huff. “Don’t worry. You’ll be remembered.”

“Fondly?” The Talon asked.

The Trainee’s lips quirked on one side. “No.”

“Talon, Trainee. Are you prepared?” The Grandmaster’s voice carried down into the arena.

“Yes, master.” Their voices were in unison, enough practice with that to last a lifetime.

The single beam of light they had been standing in disappeared only for the entire arena to be lit up. The rows of Court seats were still in darkness but with the additional light the Trainee could make out the white masks and fancy dresses, crisp dress suits and glittering jewelry. “Your service to us has been exemplary, William Cobb. Your sacrifice will bring a new, greater era to the Court through the next Talon.”

The Trainee watched as Cobb’s face barely contained his anger.

“As our new Talon, it is your duty now to retire Mr. Cobb for his service and prove your superior skills,” the Grandmaster said. “Begin.”

Trainee and Talon each pulled out a blade. The Court remained silent and Trainee felt the vaguest memory of something stir. A crowd. A light. A show. He couldn’t remember. His past had long been wiped away in the first year of conditioning. It was enough of a distraction, however, that the Talon took full advantage. The Trainee felt himself being knocked back but brought his blade up in defense before Talon could skewer him. He brought up his foot, shoving it into Talon’s chest. The sound of ribs cracking was audible to the Trainee’s ears as was the sound of bone knitting back together. The regenerative abilities would make this fight only that much harder.

Which, he supposed, was the point. If he could defeat the Talon, he could defeat anyone. If he could defeat anyone, he was fit to be Talon.

The kick seemed to come out of nowhere, catching the Trainee in the jaw. He felt a tooth loosen but by the time he ran his tongue along the same tooth, it was firmly back in place. He spit out the glob of blood and then attacked. It was a vicious assault from the front, the same series of moves that the Talon had taught him. With the addition, of course, of a series of flips that the Trainee had always known.

The Talon laughed every time he said that. Seemed to take humor in the Trainee’s missing memories.

A bone cracked. The Trainee knew it was his. It healed. This was getting nowhere.

The Trainee threw the blade. His aim was perfect, or would be against anyone other than the man who had trained him. The Talon pulled the blade out, wet with blood, and threw it to the side. It embedded deep in the stone wall and he grinned. “That’s no way to prove your superiority.”

The Trainee ran at him, flipping to land hands on his shoulders. The Talon grabbed him and threw him into the wall. The air rushed out, something else snapped.

Healed.

The Talon turned, bent down, and grabbed the front of the Trainee’s uniform. A balled up fist of black form fitting material that he used to pull the Trainee off the ground. “You’re letting them down, Trainee. After all this time? When I kill you, they’re going to give me another Trainee. Think he’ll be less of a disappointment than you were?”

The Trainee ground his teeth and landed a punch to the Talon’s jaw. Both hands wrapped around the Talon’s head to hold it still so the Trainee could knee him in the face. Blood splattered on his cheek as his knee crushed the older man’s nose. The Talon stumbled back but the Trainee didn’t let up.

“I don’t want to do this,” he muttered.

The Talon smirked. “I never beat that out of you?”

“I don’t want to do this,” the Trainee repeated again.

The Talon pulled another blade. “I do. I want to kill you. Your failure means a longer life for me, Trainee. I knew you were just as pathetic as your fath-“

The Trainee shoved a blade into the Talon’s chest. He shoved, pulled back an inch, and then pushed it in again. Warm blood flowed over his fingers. “I didn’t want to.”

The Talon looked down, surprised. His hand drew a blade, the Trainee deflected it with his arm. The steel bit into his arm. It would heal. It always did.

“But I will,” the Trainee said. Another shove of the knife, preventing the Talon from healing. The blood soaked into their uniforms. Black material soaked it up, leaving not a trace of red color. It glistened under the bright lights, however, lights that were still making the Trainee’s eyes hurt.

The Talon grew limp, hand sliding down the Trainee’s arm before it fell away completely. The Trainee stepped back and the Talon sunk to the floor.

Silence. The Trainee lowered his hands to keep the Court from seeing them shake. The blade still fell out of his hands and clattered against the stone floor.

“Congratulations, Talon,” the Grandmaster said. “His resurrection will take forty eight hours. We will have someone collect the two of you in thirty six.”

The Trainee- No, the Talon’s head came up, searching the sea of white masks for sign of the Grandmaster. He had to stay in here? With the body? The questions were on his tongue, weighing heavy in his mouth. Nothing moved past that.

“Talon?” the Grandmaster prompted.

“Yes, master,” he said.

“You have made us proud,” the voice was praising. Made his skin crawl. “Continue to do so and you may prove to be the best Talon the Court has ever seen.”

Until the next Talon. Until _he_ was the body lying in a puddle of his own blood and staining the stone floor of the arena.

Footsteps as they filed out, one by one. The sound of expensive jewelry jingling. And then he was alone. Talon was alone and the body of his teacher lay beside him. He sunk to the floor, sitting on the cold stone and his gaze was drawn to the body there.

Cold, empty gold eyes staring at him from a familiar face. “I didn’t want to.”

**Jason: Age 12: Nanda Parbat**

There was a plush bed, white sheets and blood red blankets. Pillows stuffed with the finest, a bed made of dark desert wood. A window propped open to make the baby blue sky visible and let the warm air inside. And it was all Jason’s. Every square inch, of which there were many, was his and only his.

He’d never get used to that. Never get used to having something to call his own.

There was a knock at the door and Jason looked up from his math book. He pulled the pencil out of his mouth. “Come in.”

The door swung open and Talia stepped in. All glamorous hair and bright red lips. She closed the door behind her. “Child.”

“Talia,” Jason said, a return of the greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“You should never offer that,” Talia said. “Never ask what you can do.”

“I know, Talia,” Jason said, and set the pencil aside with a sigh. “It’s just something you say.”

“Without thought. Not realizing the consequences of anyone who would hold you to your thoughtless question,” she said.

Another sigh. “I understand, Talia. I’ll try to be more careful about saying it next time.”

The woman’s eyes flickered over him before she replied, “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Is that what you came in for?” Jason asked.

“No, of course not,” Talia said. She walked over and took a seat beside Jason on the bed. Her hands were folded primly in her lap. “I have some news to share with you. Father was informed first, of course, and Nyssa was required to be informed as well. It follows, of course, that you should be informed now.”

“What?” Jason asked, caution in his tone.

Talia cleared her throat and Jason’s nerves only ramped up. His adoptive mother was good at hiding her emotions, covering her expressions behind cold indifference. To see her need to express her discomfort spoke of the levels it must be at. “During my last visit to Gotham I conceived a child with the Batman. Well, rather we coupled and my efforts to collect specimens of DNA were successful which upon bringing them back home a child was created from our DNA.”

Jason wrinkled his nose. Talia and the Bat had “coupled”. That was one thought twelve year old Jason never needed to have again. Then reality set in. Talia was having a baby. The heir she’d always wanted, the child she’d always had such dreams for, the real product of herself and her so-called Beloved that Jason had been taking the place of. Butterflies filled his stomach. “Oh. When do I go back?”

“Go back where?” Talia asked.

Jason motioned vaguely towards the west. “Gotham. When do I go back to Gotham?”

“Why would you wish to go back to Gotham?” Talia asked.

Jason closed the math book. He was well advanced. His tutors said that he was well into high school levels of reading and math, eighth grade science. Advanced. He could do something with that. That was enough education that he might could actually get a job getting paid under the table. Enough to get his GED later, get a real job after that. “You have a real heir now. That’s what you wanted, right? A real heir. He’ll be strong and smart. Just like you wanted.”

Talia’s eyes darkened, her lips pursed. “You would be wise not to tell me what I want, child. I decide what I want. Not Father. Not the Batman. Not even you. I have what I want. A son, bright and smart.” Jason looked away. “It is _you_ , Jason. I took you in because that is what I wanted. Because you are my first heir in every way possible. This child to be born will be loved and cared for, taken care of and given every opportunity that you have, but they will be treated with the responsibilities of a second born child. They are not here to replace you.”

Jason looked up, lips wavering slightly. “But-“

“It is inappropriate to start a sentence with a conjunction,” Talia cut him off. “There are no buts. You are my heir. That is all.”

Jason didn’t know what to say. He thought Talia had what she wanted. He thought a real son…why would she need or want him?

“I would have hoped you thought higher of me than that,” Talia said.

Jason cringed. “I’m sorry.”

Talia waved it off, a physical motion, and then replied, “I knew what you were like when I took you in.”

Jason smiled weakly at that and then his eyes looked down at her stomach. “So…”

“Oh, no. Nothing that messy,” Talia said with a laugh. “The scientists have taken care of my child’s womb. Pregnancy is taxing on the body and dangerous to a woman’s health. I have no interest in either aspect of that.”

Of course not. This was Talia, of course. “Right.”

“You may see them, if you wish,” Talia said.

Jason was silent for a moment. “I think I’d like that.”

Talia led him through the stone pathways, hand on his shoulder and silent as they walked. Her hand was comforting, had always been comforting, despite Jason knowing that she was deadly. Her lethality had never been directed towards Jason. He was her family and now there was going to be another member of her family. Another member of his family. “Will they be my little brother or sister?”

“Indeed,” Talia replied.

It was a warm thought. A little brother or sister that Jason could protect and care for. One that he would love forever and ever.

Talia opened the lab doors and allowed Jason to walk inside first. She directed him to a glowing ball, glass with pink fluid. Inside was a small misshapen creature that Jason could only assume was Talia’s new baby. “That?”

Talia’s lips quirked but she didn’t chastise them. “The reproductive process is not an attractive one, as you can see. But in time, he or she will become a beautiful baby. Obviously. Its parents are of the highest quality in terms of conventional beauty standards.”

Well, of course they were. Talia would settle for nothing less than perfect. Jason himself had been told more than once by Talia that he was a handsome boy who would surely grow into being a handsome young man. And Jason, despite all his insecurities, didn’t doubt her words. Talia wouldn’t have taken him in if he had such an obvious flaw.

“You may come closer, child,” Talia said.

Jason was hesitant, not even sure if he _wanted_ to come closer. But he eventually gave in to his curiosity and approached the little glowing ball. He put his hand against the glass, warmer than he expected, and said, “You and I are going to be the best of friends, little sibling.”

**Dick: Age 20: Gotham**

He was sixteen, seventeen maybe. Certainly no older than that. There are keys in his pocket and one of them is a car key based on the imprint against his jeans so he can’t be any younger. Black hair, blue eyes. Prior to the serum, Talon’s eyes were a shade of blue similar to the boy’s. They could have appeared to be related once upon a time. No longer.

Talon stopped training to kneel, the punching bag swinging from where it hung from the ceiling, with his head bowed low. The boy cleared his throat. “You can stand.”

It wasn’t the first heir he’d met. Court members had been bringing children around since the Talon had started. Even during conditioning, Talon could make out faint memories of wide eyes looking at him as he screamed through his pain. As they reached an age where they would begin to learn their roles within the Court, their parents would bring them into the Court’s domain. They got a nice tour and a stop to meet the Talon. After all, if part of your birthright is a guard dog you should make damn sure it smells your hand.

Talon had fantasized about grabbing one and snapping its stupid neck just to watch the Court react. He knew better, and even if emotion had beaten common sense he was conditioned not to lay a harmful finger against the Court. He could no more hit them than he could suddenly sprout a second head.

That didn’t keep him from picturing each little heir with a splintered spine, bones sticking out and mouth gaping open like a beached fish.

Upon permission, Talon stood and put his hands at his back to wait for orders, not that there would likely be any. Most of the heirs were too intimidated to even speak to him.

“I thought you’d be taller,” the boy said. Talon barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He watched something flash in the boy’s eyes. “Wait, I know you. You were one of the Flying Graysons.”

Talon flinched.

“Richard Grayson!” He exclaimed. Another flinch. “I was there the night your parents-“ Silence. A flush creeped onto his cheeks. “Sorry. You’re Richard Grayson.”

Talon hadn’t heard the name in years. He had been forbidden to speak it early on and Talon wasn’t foolish enough to risk the Court’s wrath for something as juvenile as a name. “Not anymore.”

Another flash in the boy’s eyes. It looked like sympathy. Talon was going to end up being sent to kill him one day. Sympathy wasn’t a trait that the Court encouraged, after all.

“Timothy!” A woman’s voice. The boy turned as she walked in, dark hair hanging in loose curls around her face. A slimming navy blue dress hugged her figure and her expensive heels clicked loudly against the floor. It said much that she did not hesitate when seeing the Talon standing there before her son. “What are you doing in here?”

“I heard him training,” Timothy said.

“You would have had the opportunity to meet him later,” Janet said. “Get away from him.”

Tim frowned. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

Talon wished he _could_.

“Of course not. He’s harmless. You’re an Owl,” she said. Completely unconcerned. Why should she be? Her words weren’t inaccurate. The Talon was on a carefully controlled leash. He couldn’t _look_ at her the wrong way without expecting punishment. “That doesn’t mean you need to be consorting with him.”

“Isn’t he our duty?” Tim asked.

That was a unique way of phrasing it. It almost sounded like the boy was taking responsibility for him. Talon had heard himself referred to as many things, never someone’s duty. Never something someone needed to look out for, if you will.

“He’s our weapon,” Janet said. She looked over her shoulder at the Talon. “Go back to training.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Talon replied.

“Mom-“

“Let’s go,” she demanded.

Timothy looked at Talon one last time as the man began to beat a rhythm against the bag but inevitably followed his mother out of the room.

**Jason: Age 17: Nanda Parbat**

Jason dodged the knife thrown at his head. It embedded in the wall, vibrating with the force of being thrown, and Jason could only gape at it for a moment before turning to his little brother. “You little brat.”

“Mother says you have to stop insulting me,” Damian said. He was a pudgy little snot. All soft rolls and thick cheeks. It made Jason wonder if that was a trait he inherited from the Bat or Talia. It was hard to imagine Talia being pudgy in the slightest but when he managed a fuzzy image of the beautiful woman at two feet and squishy from baby fat he couldn’t help but smirk.

“I’m not calling you a brat to insult you. I’m calling you a brat because it’s true,” Jason said.

Damian grunted and threw the other knife at Jason’s head. One of these days, Jason was actually going to have to be worried. Right now, Damian’s throws were still slow and his aim inconsistent. But the five year old was already as good at it as Jason had been at eleven which meant it would be only a matter of time before Damian was an actual threat with one of those things.

“Go home!” Damian shouted. Another knife that hit the wall with a thunk.

“I am home,” Jason said, pulling the knives out and pocketing them. He wouldn’t put it past the little demon to climb the walls or some shit and grab them from where they were sticking out of the wood.

“You don’t belong here,” Damian said. The vicious words sounded weird coming from the mouth of a child. “You’re stealing my…my birthright!”

“How do you even know what that is?” Jason asked. The question was phrased to Damian but with the way the older boy rolled his eyes heavenward, he was probably directing it to the universe in general. Talia with her endless hours of tutoring and demanding corrections of Jason’s grammar was surely the cause of Damian’s overly formal way of speech. “I didn’t take anything. To be technical, Talia gave me your birthright. Go bother her. I have a mission to be getting ready for.”

“A mission you don’t deserve to go on,” Damian said.

“To think that I was ever interested in being your brother. You’re a brat and I wish Talia had never had you,” Jason snapped. Something flashed in Damian’s eyes and little wet droplets welled around bright blue irises. Jason swore under his breath. “No, don’t…don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Damian said, defensive even at an age so young. But no matter how many lectures on strength Talia could give him or how much Damian wanted to prove he was better than Jason, he was still just a child and the first tear fell down his cheek to leave a glistening wet trail.

Jason sighed and crouched down, wrapping his arms around Damian. He’d never been much of a hugger, never affectionate at all really, but after watching the way Talia withheld her affections almost like punishments and rewards he’d known that if Damian wanted any chance of not having a lifetime of therapy ahead of him he’d need to step it up. And he shouldn’t have been surprised when the touch starved five year old leaned in and laid his little head on Jason’s shoulder. He sniffled, loudly, and Jason was sure he was going to have snot on his clothes. “I still don’t like you, Todd.”

“Yeah, I still don’t like you either,” Jason replied. The words seemed to relax Damian even further. Jason lifted him up, wrapping little legs around his waist and rubbing Damian’s back. He whispered. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m glad Talia had you. It gives me someone who’s actually a challenge around here.”

Damian sniffled again and nodded, silent. They were good, however. For now.


End file.
